Adoptables
by Nohime
Summary: Stories you can read and adopt. Some may contain rules, others may not. In the future, if inspiration strikes I may take up some of them and develop them. An attempt to get more fanfiction writers interested in certain genres.
1. Master of Death and his Pet

**Adoptable:**

 **Master of Death and his Pet**

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 _Rules:_

 _1\. H/Hr pairing._

 _2\. Stick with the characterization showed here._

 _3\. Death cannot be killed._

 _4\. Harry cannot be killed._

 _5\. Harry cannot lose his status as Master of Death._

 _6\. As displayed, this Harry is not Light, but not purely Dark either._

 _7\. Time of arrival: between Fourth Year and Fifth Year, you choose._

 _8\. Yes, you can abuse Death's powers! Have fun with that!_

 _9\. Death can be a convincing actor on the event that you need him to supplant Harry for whatever reason._

 _10\. Voldemort and his Death Eaters... do as you please. And by that I mean, destroy them!_

 _11\. Rancorous!Harry: he doesn't forgive Dumbledore when they meet at King Cross._

 _12\. Weasley bashing... purely optional._

 _13\. No weaseling out from the deal made here._

* * *

 **A/N:** Please give me credit for the idea.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** As always, don't own, never will.

* * *

"Voldemort."

A beat.

"Vol de la mort."

Another.

"Now, that's proper French. A coward wouldn't know how to tell the difference, or was he just an ignorant bleeding fool when he came up with the stupid anagram?"

A figure glided across the blank sky, the bottom line being this wasn't a sky to begin with. The term wasn't available in any human language, but if one had to choose one in particular, you could go with 'The Void'. Some called it 'Limbo'. Neither were true.

Death made a loop in the air, whooping merrily when he completed the third one successfully without crashing to the ground.

Harry Potter, used to the being's antics, didn't look up. He had no desire to encourage them further.

Death was immortal, thus he had all eternity to mumble his musings to absolutely no one. One would pity the being, if it weren't a downright prat. The lowest of the lowest; an itch in his arse that he couldn't shake off no matter what.

But the most annoying aspect of Death was their bipolar personality.

Sure enough, with no forewarning to speak of, Death warped in front of him, but it was the image of Lord Voldemort who offered him a maniac grin. This, as unsettling as it could be to others, usually meant that he was in a playful mood.

"Tom Riddle was an absolute marvellous name, but it doesn't really match with my renewed persona, now does it, Harry?" he hissed silkily. The now he-being made to touch him with taunting fingers.

"No touching," Harry reminded him.

With a curse, Death flinched out of sight.

Harry snorted.

The entity's moody retreat proved to be more of a façade than anything else, because Harry immediately sensed Death's new position, which happened to be directly behind him.

The young wizard continued scribing in his notebook, regardless.

"Paradoxes," Death began with their ethereal tones, "are one of a kind."

The sound of a page turning.

"Oh, time does have its redundancies, of course, but it doesn't stand for them," they were suddenly a she and Harry froze in anger. Death knew which buttons to press and Hermione was one of them. The mere sound of her caused him physical pain, product of much anger and longing. "Surely, you must have heard of the Ouroboros? In Greek mythology, this giant snake is an ancient symbol which depicts cyclicality, or re-creation itself. Applied to time, this line of philosophy reached a very startling conclusion, one which is only surprising by its simplistic nature: time refers to itself, loves to repeat history as mankind knows it. Mistake after mistake… Crumbling civilizations topple pathetically one after the other… Historical records prove that this theory has some truth to it: why, Muggles did indeed pursue those of magical blood once they were aware of their existence, did they not? Only this time, they weren't grabbing torches and spears, did they?"

Mocking him, as always.

"Yes, the Witch Burnings… Those must have been enjoyable times for you," Harry said, frost covering every inflection of his response. He didn't turn for fear of what he would find there.

"Nuclear warfare is much better," Death sounded rather wistful. _Destruction and chaos. Deterioration and mutation…_

Death was at home midst the suffering.

The Master of Death shuddered. "Figures it would appeal to you," Harry snapped, closing his notebook shut. His eyes would have made Voldemort think twice before engaging in battle with the Boy Who Lived.

"War is a beautiful, _beautiful_ thing, Master… A gift from the gods-"

"Don't you _ever_ use her," he hissed. "Even less if you're going to put those filthy words in her mouth!"

"Why you must restrict me so, Harry?" Death bemoaned. They were Dumbledore now.

Harry's fist shook with tension as he turned around. Death's disguise was impeccable as ever, down to those thrice damned twinkly eyes.

Somewhere in his subconscious, he bristled as soon as he saw his old mentor.

"It comes with the job description," Harry said dryly, "Though I'd rather not have met you, ever, if possible."

" _It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life_ (1)," Death proclaimed solemnly and then broke into outrageous laughter.

Harry had never looked more unimpressed.

Death had mentioned his ancestor and this tale for countless of times. There was no lingering effect now.

"I get it," he said, "Laugh it up, see where that gets you."

Immediately, Dumbledore's countenance snapped back to seriousness.

"Harry Potter," Death breathed, "everyone must face Death once their time on Earth is over."

"I want to die, yet still here I am," Harry smirked.

"Ah, yes," Death hissed with venom. He strode forward, Dumbledore's eccentric robes trailing behind like loveable hounds. Death reached for the Gaunt Ring only to be repelled instants later.

Death's disguise dropped as they cradled their hand; lacking any discernible form with the exception of the blackness of their shadows, the effect was quite perturbing.

In the event that Death pursued the retrieval of his long-lost creations, the same would occur with his Cloak or Antioch's Wand.

"The three _objects_ …" Death spat, "Together, at last."

"You were tricked by the three brothers," Harry muttered softly, "and these are the consequences of your actions."

 _Enslaved for eternity…_

 _… to his unwilling Master._

Death seemed to bristle- impossible to tell without any appearance to speak of- before settling for a form both were intrinsically familiar with.

Himself.

"Rub it in, won't you," Death mocked, sticking his tongue out in an effort to appear more childish.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's the sole subject that you won't laugh at. Of course, I'll remind you of your blunder every time I can."

Death glared at him. His irises were impossibly darker than his own.

"So," Harry said, "back to the matter at hand." He waved his notebook emphatically. "Time travel."

"Pointless," Death drawled immediately, "boring. Blooming cack."

Harry frowned. "Explain," he ordered.

Death seemed to straighten. "Done, attempted and thought of countless of times," he said, kicking inexistent rocks with his boots. "I must say, what you lack with age, you don't compensate with originality, Master." (2)

"Let me sweeten the pot for you then," Harry said, thinking quickly. "If I go back in time"- because Death existed in all planes and at all times, making any effort to transport them along him incredibly redundant- "and I achieve my goal, I will order you to make me pass away when we are old." Death didn't outwardly react, but he could feel the being's excitement through their connection.

"You'll be masterless once more," Harry concluded with finality and the words carried to The Void, echoing around them.

"The objects will be returned to me."

"You may have them, except for the Cloak," Harry compromised.

Death bared his teeth threateningly. "The Cloak is my own!"

"You may never touch the Cloak nor trick anyone into giving it to you," Harry narrowed his eyes, focusing his powers as Death's Master in that single sentence. He knew better than to allow him completely free reign over the universe; it may not survive the catastrophe the next day. "Even if someone is stupid enough to hand it over to you willingly, you _will_ reject it. The same goes if you stumble upon it on accident or if you actively seek it."

The embodiment of Death struggled vainly against the imposed order, trembling with outrage when he couldn't break free.

"Understood," Death hissed with such roughness that made Harry wonder if he had spoken in Parseltongue.

"Good," Harry nodded.

"As per agreement," he said as continuation, "You or any of your agents may not plot against me or mine, in any existential state, whether they be blood or bound to me by other means."

"Would never dream of it," Death uttered silkily, showing all teeth. A brutal glint appeared in his eye, "But your enemies, Master, are to be branded forever as my fucktoys."

Harry, who blinked rapidly in surprise, raised his both his eyebrows in disbelief.

Death laughed wickedly, making no effort to reveal what he had in mind for the to-be-doomed.

It was best that way, Harry reasoned warily. His mind alone could be cruel sometimes, but Death was on another whole level of his own.

"So… Do we have a deal?" he asked.

Death grinned widely, striding confidently up to him and meeting him with a firm handshake. Magic started crackling up a storm as soon as their hands touched.

"Ah, Harry Potter," the being still wearing his body like a suit spoke with eerie graveness, his lips twitching upwards as Death seemed to age backwards in front of his eyes. Avada Kedavra green glowed with power as they stared each other down. "Do not worry. We do have a binding accord."

* * *

(1) Taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, property of J.K. Rowling.

(2) A jab at the recurring theme: 'Harry goes back in time'. Do not be mistaken, this is no mere Reaper. This is Death we are talking about. Hopefully, this will refresh the idea.


	2. Symbiosis

**Adoptable:**

 **Symbiosis**

* * *

 **-WARNING-**

 **WEIRD SHYTE AHEAD**

 **Seriously**

* * *

 _Rules:_

 _1\. The Basilisk must have a given name._

 _2\. The Basilisk could get rid of the Horcrux's magic (stupid scar), thus erasing that little b*tch._

 _3\. Life as a host will be exhausting for Harry in the beggining, but he won't go to the Hospital Wing no matter what, as he is afraid of what the matron will discover (he doesn't know if she will detect the Basilisk)._

 _4\. Harry's senses will go haywire sometimes._

 _5\. Harry will always remain HUMAN. No scales, no weird forked tongue or paralizing eyes, to name a few._

 _6\. Harry will experience strange urges, like raw meat at random times._

 _7\. Harry must keep the Basilisk._

 _8\. The Basilisk won't endanger Harry by being inside of him. There's a bond established between the two and the Basilisk's magic is compatible with Harry's, seemingly identical to his own._

 _9\. Speaking Parseltongue for seemingly no good reason... at random times XD_

 _10\. Please consider making this a H/HR (optional). Hermione_ will _be worried about Harry and do some research. I accept Luna/Harry pairing as well._

 _11\. Because the Basilisk is inhabiting Harry, its magic won't let it grow when it's inside. When it grew too much outside it can shrink until its a comfortable size and so on._

 _12\. You are free to decide if Harry tells anyone or keeps it secret._

 _13\. You can decide if the Basilisk keeps living inside Harry (if not, where can he leave it?)._

 _14\. Side effect from Fawkes tears (?)_

 _15\. No Gary Stu or Mary Sues, please._

 _16\. The Basilisk will appear to be a tattoo at first glance._

 _17\. "And from the small incision one_ _snake came out leisurely. Harry Potter didn't give away anything that would indicate he was in pain, even though a living creature was obviously coming out from his forearm. Incredibly, as soon as the reptile was out the cut was immediately healed."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Had fun with this one. The nature of Basilisk procreation isn't breached anywhere and when it is, it's always an egg (and a toad, silly things)... But what if the egg was in the bloodstream? Let's assume for a moment that Basilisks are perfectly capable of asexual reproduction and that they are perfectly adaptable to their enviroment (AKA Harry).

Also, a bond with a Basilisk! Your very own portable Basilisk! How cool is that?

Yeah, I admit I took a lot of liberties here... ALL FOR THE LOVE OF FANFICTION!

(Mummy Harry... In a totally sick way, he's its mother XD)

I feel like this is kinda weird crack. Like seriously. Wow. Me and my mind... (SUGAR RUSH WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE)

Consider yourselves lucky I'm not drunk.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** NOPE.

* * *

 **Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry urged Ginny forward; they stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk**. As irrational as it was - the dark creature was _dead_ -, Harry kept seeing movement where there was none. He rather hoped that he wasn't still suffering the effects of its venom, because Harry swore that for a split of second, he had heard a faint hissing coming from the unmoving carcass.

Fawkes, the Phoenix, burst into a promptu song suddenly and Harry smiled at it in thanks, his heart no longer feeling as burdened, overridden by a surge of confidence.

As in a trance, Ginny continued to tread, limp by limp, advancing unsteadily **through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. Harry** , who was now trailing after her, **heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.**

Disturbingly, the faint sound didn't abate as they resumed their walk deeper into the looming caves, although Ginny seemed unaware of this.

He wanted to scratch his arm so bad…

 **After a few minutes' progress** **up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry's ears.**

 **"Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up** at the sight of his friend. **"Ginny's okay! I've got her!"**

 **He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rockfall.**

 **"** ** _Ginny_** **!" Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened? How — what — where did that bird come from?"**

 **Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.**

 **"He's Dumbledore's," said Harry,** hesitating momentarily before **squeezing through himself.**

 **"How come you've got a** ** _sword_** **?" said Ron, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry's hand.**

Harry smiled wryly, feeling his arm acting up uncomfortably in the spot where he was pierced by that fang; still, he refused to worry his best mate and his sister so soon after a life-threatening encounter with a Basilisk.

 **"I'll explain when we get out of here," said Harry with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever.**

 **"But —"**

 **"Later," Harry said shortly. He didn't think it was a good idea to tell Ron yet who'd been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny, anyway.** Either way, he wasn't about to linger in this death trap. **"Where's Lockhart?"**

 **"Back there," said Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. "He's in a bad way. Come and see."**

And admittedly, he was. Their Defence Professor was mumbling incoherently to himself, a strange grin stretched his mouth permanently.

 **"His memory's gone," said Ron. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself."**

 **Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all.**

 **"Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"**

 **"No," said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry. (1)**

"Pity… The décor is one of a kind... The piles of bones, the eerie atmosphere- Oh, my-! Must the surprises never end? The mascot you bring with you is a marvel! A marvel, I say!" exclaimed Lockhart, speaking as though he was talking to Merlin himself.

"Ah," Harry exchanged an unsure glance with Ron. "Thanks, but he isn't mine." Although he doubted Fawkes was the Headmaster's as well. But Lockhart's admiration didn't fade away.

Daily, Harry put up with a lot of staring, but he was quickly getting disturbed by Lockhart's sudden fixation with him.

"He's gone round the bend," snickered lowly Ron.

"He must have given himself a whole new personality," Harry frowned uneasily, edging away. _Let's hope he doesn't molest us._

Ron noticed this. "Alright, mate?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm alright, Ron," Harry turned to the Phoenix, thinking what to say to the legendary creature. "Ah- I think we'll need two trips to make it out of here, Fawkes," he addressed it politely. "And please," he made sure he wasn't begging here, "get Lockhart to Madam Pomphrey. The same goes with Ginny. We don't know what Voldem- that diary did to her."

The poor girl looked torn between protesting and leaking more tears.

"'Cause there's no way were going back the way we came in," commented Ron. "Slytherin was _insane_."

Harry coughed. Truer words never spoken.

Fawkes trilled in agreement and swiftly grabbed Lockhart and Ginny with its thick talons. With a flash of light later, they were gone.

Of course that with the Phoenix's momentary absence, they started to fidget involuntarily. Pointedly, they ignored the remains scattered everywhere.

"So, sword?" Ron asked lamely.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "That's still left for later."

Ron's ears reddened, but the colouring abruptly paled when suddenly a loud hiss cut through the silence.

"Woah! Easy there, Harry! NO MENTALLY SCARRING FRIENDS! I know that you don't want to talk about it, mate, and that's fine, but- bloody hell- you can't just-"

"But- but- I didn't-!"

"Ha, ha, ha… Very funny," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "Please don't take a page out of Hagrid's book, mate. I'll appreciate it greatly if you don't give me another heart attack!"

The Acromantulas were still a sore subject for Ron.

"No, Ron," Harry began, "I swear that wasn't me."

That made him pale even further. Harry would go as far as to say that he looked slightly green. "… Blimey, Harry! You _did_ kill the Basilisk, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course I did! Why do you think I keep this thing with me?" Harry snapped, gesturing at Gryffindor's sword to prove his point.

"Then what...?" Ron swallowed thickly, "You don't think…?"

"What? What are you talking about now?"

"He," Ron almost choked when he thought of Hagrid's former pet, "he had a whole nest in the Forbidden Forest, remember?"

"Children…" Harry trailed off, understanding where he was going with this.

"Do Basilisks even lay eggs?" his friend was almost hysterical.

"Let's not be here to find out," Harry decided tremorously. He looked around wildly. "Fawkes! We need you here!"

Responding to his call, a ball of red fire immediately came into existence near them. Dumbledore's Phoenix trilled in greeting and both of their knees almost buckled in pure relief.

They had never been so glad to see a bird in all of their lives.

* * *

Unnoticed by both wizards and the Phoenix, a small creature slithered freely underneath the Chosen One's skin, unhindered by his host's scars.

Like Phoenixes, a Basilisk's loyalty was hard won, but unlike them they chose their lifetime companions according to their perceived power and prowess in battle.

This particular newborn Basilisk had no intention of eating his host from the inside, as hatchlings were wont to do with common corpses; the boy had survived its mother's venom, something that most living creatures couldn't dream to match. And, as a bonus, his host had also split blood in the same day, while successfully getting rid of his Parselmouth foe.

His host was a warrior, a survivor. He was worthy.

Following its instincts, the small Basilisk came to a decision: it would leech off his host's magic until it was strong enough to survive in the wilderness, should its host reject it when the time came.

If not, a perfectly symbiotic relationship would be born.

* * *

(1) All in bold is taken from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, property of J.K Rowling


	3. Masquerade

**Adoptable:**

 **Masquerade**

* * *

 _Rules:_

 _1\. H/HR. Non-negotiable._

 _2\. Animagus forms for the both of them._

 _3\. You are at liberty to decide their forms._

 _4\. Replica-copy goodness. Harry's obviously in love with Hermione so I expect you to toy with what his copies want to do to her. (KISS THE GIRL!)_

 _5\. Hermione feels every scratch when Not-Harry gets injured. Includes Crucio. Same goes to everone who learns of the spell._

 _6._ Assimilo _works better with willing subjects. You can copy the others, but if they don't want to aid in the creation of the copies, their already short life is considerably shortened._

 _7\. Copies have directives. They behave normally, but as if they were struck with an Imperio curse. At the moment, Not-Harry is to distract Umbridge._

 _8\. Copies are allies to the caster._

 _9\. Copies vanish when their original dies._

 _10\. Ron is being a prat for whatever reason. You can befriend him again or just take him out from the mix._

 _11\. Copies can transmit information to their originals by touch. Expect magical backlash._

 _12\. Experience of the caster with the spell equals to much sturdier copies._

 _13\. There's no DA yet. Have it sometime soon._

 _14\. Please be innovative. Just because they are copies of someone doesn't mean that they will act the same all the time. Some parts of the caster shine through sometimes. Example: a bookworm Harry._

 _15\. The Room can manage multiple active rooms at the same time._

 _16\. Copies are exhausting to make. You can only afford to do four in the same day._

 _17\. Harry is aware of Voldemort attempting to lure him somewhere. He'll be expecting a trap._

 _18\. Make Umbridge an evil b*tch. That shouldn't be hard._

 _19\. Hermione Granger, spell-crafter._

* * *

 **A/N:** Hellooooo

Welcome to another of these!

A mix of clichés, combined with a few additional themes. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** I love destroying Dumbledore's character. Manipulative old goat :3

* * *

Harry Potter opened the entrance door to their common room, a blank-face firmly in place.

Those Gryffindors that were still down there for the most part ignored him as he walked past. Anyone with logical thought could tell what had transpired that night, but no one with their sanity intact wanted to be seen with the Boy Who Lied, lest be dealt with detention and getting in Umbridge's black list as well.

Harry was rather counting on that as he made for the boy's room, intending to have some time alone to brood, only to be intercepted midway there.

Someone caught him from behind, touching his hand and causing him to automatically remove it with a hiss. Turning around, he wasn't surprised to see her, worry practically oozing from her.

"Come on," Hermione Granger was silent as she valiantly ignored his glare and started to drag him away to a corner instead. "Let me have a look at that."

 _That_ was his newest scar to enter the Potter collection. Blood Quills were vicious on the hands of their esteemed Headmistress, especially if the one to receive detention was him.

 _I must not tell lies._

Harry was not a liar and they both knew it.

Once sitting, tenderly, Hermione traced the marred skin, murmuring softly to herself. Suddenly, Harry found himself reviving everything he had seen and felt that night, but feeling acutely that someone was keeping him company inside his own head.

Normally, he would have minded the intrusion, but he wasn't exactly normal, now was he?

"That awful, awful woman," Hermione spat viciously.

"Hermione," Harry said flatly, shooting her a pointed look.

She grimaced, "Of course."

They weren't alone by any stretch of the imagination. Biting her lip, she spotted at least two people whirling around in order to avoid her stare.

"We should leave," she blurted suddenly.

"What about curfew?"

"Bring your cloak," she said simply.

They both waited until everyone went to bed, going as far as pretending to go to sleep themselves. Then they met back in the common room half an hour later.

"Let's go," she said. Her friend complied by throwing his invisibility cloak over their heads, promptly disappearing from sight.

Curfew weighed heavily on their shoulders as they explored the dark corridors of Hogwarts. The consequences of being caught out of bed at this hour weren't exactly pleasant and neither of them were in any hurry to return to be punished so soon after experiencing a bloody session in Umbridge's office.

"Will you do me the honours, Milady?" Harry asked cheekily.

"Prat," Hermione rolled her eyes. Her friend caught her reluctant amusement with ease and grinned at her.

Pacing three times, a specific door appeared on the wall.

It wasn't too big. In fact, she'd seen a similar version before at her own place, back with her parents. Except that this one seemed duller somehow and much, much more unwelcoming. Worst still, she recognized it from somewhere.

She turned to Harry with fire in her eyes. "Why in the on earth would you choose the Dursley's?" she asked with a glare.

This Harry didn't have a clue.

Agitated by his choice of room, Hermione stormed inside, noting with irritation that everything inside omitted anything reminiscent of the magical world; it was a perfect replica of _that place_ , down to the photographs hanging on the wall. There was even a working telly on, something that shouldn't be possible inside the walls of a magical castle, but there was no sign of who she was looking for.

Deciding that she would ask later, and, refusing to be derailed in her quest, she looked around once more.

"Harry!" she called.

"Hermione?" came the surprised voice of her original friend. He appeared from a steaming room, presumably a bathroom, judging by the towel wrapped around his waist and his wet hair. "What happened? Were we caught?" he asked.

Feeling like someone had thrown a bucket of freezing water on her, Hermione blinked rapidly and tried not to look like she was enjoying too much seeing his uncovered torso.

"No," she replied curtly, narrowing her eyes dangerously.

"Oi, have more faith in you, mate," Not-Harry, the copy she had come with, made gestures from behind her back, trying to warn the other about the danger. "You know just as well that I just need to be annoying in her presence for her to lose it. There's no way she's going to suspect anything when she's busy tormenting me," he laughed awkwardly.

"I wish that you didn't provoke her so much," Hermione admitted dryly.

Both of them winced. "Sorry, Hermione," they said at the same time.

Hermione found herself smiling; she still got slightly amused when this happened, no matter how bothered.

"No worries," she dismissed it evenly. "Besides, if anyone's going to be feeling it now, it's going to be you."

"Don't remind me," Original Harry scowled darkly. He sighed, touching his wet hair with a resigned air hovering about him, "Let's get this over with."

Like two sides of a mirror, they joined hands and automatically gasped in unison.

Hermione watched with morbid fascination as they froze in place and struggled not to flinch away from the other. Aware of the flux of magic in the air, she stood still throughout the whole procedure for safety reasons.

Idly, she rubbed the back of her hand, where her hand kept itching.

As she watched, Hermione noticed that the letters of Umbridge's punishment were getting blurrier and blurrier with each passing moment until they were completely gone from the copy's hand, but no scar appeared on the Harry that counted in this case. Not knowing exactly why, she felt inappropriately smug by this.

Copy and original flexed their hands when they were finished, looking extremely uncomfortable. Their hair was standing, defying gravity once more, regardless of if it was wet or not.

"Ugh," one of them covered their mouth, looking greener in the face. "I think I'm- I can't- I can't stand it," he groaned and popped out of existence.

Hermione frowned. "This one lasted longer," she mused thoughtfully.

"I think I'm gonna throw up," Harry commented, feeling sick. He ran to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door.

Looking away, Hermione scrunched her nose at the sounds of her friend's retching, feeling somewhat guilty for that. She tried to occupy herself with other things, like the TV.

Astonishingly, the reception was quite good there.

"Any signs of Voldemort?" she asked, after watching the news for a few minutes.

Thankfully, Harry was better now.

"None," he said. Spitting into the sink, he then got the water running and proceeded to wash his teeth. "There's been some freak accidents- which are undoubtedly the Death Tossers' doing-, but other than that, he seems to be laying low."

"That's not good."

"No, it isn't," he agreed and spat again. "On the plus side, though, he's still keeping at it." A predictable Voldemort was always preferable to an active one.

They both fell silent, pondering the ramifications of that turn of events.

 _Whatever he's trying to accomplish, it must be important to him_ , she concluded, thinking of what she knew about Lord Voldemort.

"You mean he's still affecting your dreams?" she clarified out loud.

A fully clothed Harry dropped to the couch with her.

"Yeah," he said. She tried not to shiver when he put his arm around behind her back. "It's always the same too. A corridor and a bunch of glowing orbs."

"So, he's thinking of a specific location? Trying to get you there?"

"Sorry, but we _are_ talking about Voldemort here, Hermione," Harry said. "I wouldn't discount the possibility he's still after my blood, especially since I walked out on his party last year. He's always going to try to lure me somewhere secluded to take me out."

Hermione worried her lip nervously.

"Maybe I should look into this corridor of his," she decided, mind already thinking of which books. Glowing orbs should be enough of a clue to know where to start looking. "We shouldn't remain in the dark with something as vital as this."

Turning to Harry, she was surprised to see he was looking at her. His eyes seemed darker than before, more focused and frightfully potent.

"Are you going out with anybody?" he blurted all of the sudden.

Hermione was opening her mouth to remind him that she didn't when her thought process finished decoding the question.

 _Oh. Oh...!_ Dumbed down by the implications, she stared at him, open-mouthed.

Finally, she couldn't take the silence.

"No," she croaked.

"Good," he said, a faint blush pinking his cheeks. He looked to the side, looking properly embarrassed by his straightforwardness. "Not-me heard rumours of you dating, so he kept wondering if you…" he said as a means of an explanation.

They both knew that he wasn't telling her something.

"Why did you choose this room, Harry?" Hermione asked the first thing to come to mind.

"I needed to shower and a break from stirring the potion," he confessed sheepishly.

It made sense. Gryffindor Tower only had bathtubs and Harry had always seemed to prefer the alternative. He hadn't seen a shower outside the Dursley's, as unfair as it sounds.

The Room reacted to their embarrassment and shifted. Where there had been Muggle furniture once, now suddenly there was a potions lab ready for use.

And a cauldron was sitting quietly on the far corner, full of liquid.

"How's it going?"

The animagus potion. Hopefully, an animal form would come handy in the inevitable war. Hermione's idea, of course.

"Slow-going," he admitted.

The reason behind Hermione's latest spell creation, _Assimulo_ , was the complications that brought the brew of such an intricate potion.

In all honesty, neither of them had been able to figure out how the Marauders had achieved their transformations, as it was horribly difficult to make. Hermione speculated they went about using the old way, which meant hours' worth of meditation and a lot of frustration, with no means to know they were doing it right or just wasting time.

It was a wonder they accomplished their transformations, Pettigrew included.

"You should stay here today," he said abruptly.

Hermione looked up in surprise.

"Why?"

"You weren't there, Hermione. Umbridge's stepping up her game. Her detentions are just an excuse for torture; I don't want you anywhere near her and those bloody quills." His visage darkened as he recalled what she had attempted to do to him.

"I feel everything that happens to my copies, Harry," she informed him gently. Snapping out from his memories, he looked utterly horrified by her confession. Not truly thinking about it, she massaged the back of her hand, feeling a ghost of pain there. "I know," she stated simply, not feeling like describing the experience.

Following her movement, he reached for her hand and held it gently. "If it counts for anything… I'm sorry," he whispered. "You keep doing all these things for me and I- I never- Ron was wrong; I shouldn't have listened to him all these years-"

She silenced him with one finger.

"No, Harry. The past is in the past, we've got to focus on the present. This potion is important. It'll give us an advantage and at the same time I'm protecting you from that woman. There's nothing to regret in this situation," she touched his cheek softly. "It would defeat the purpose of my spell if I let you face her alone in her office. Never in my life have I hated someone so much. The things she does to students…" she trailed off.

"She'd do them to you or worse," she breathed.

Not-Harry had given himself a week of detentions. There was no way she'd let him go to those. For him, she'd endure the pain.

He had those eyes again, those mesmerizing eyes.

They scared her and thrilled her at the same time.

"I should go," she murmured reluctantly, pulling away from him.

Harry looked like he was on the verge of saying something, she could see it in his eyes, but he didn't. "I'll wait for you tomorrow then," he said.

That was a promise.

 _"Assimilo_ Harry Potter _._ "

They had jobs to do.


	4. Peruvian Vipertooth

**Adoptable:**

 **Peruvian Vipertooth**

* * *

 _No rules._

* * *

 **A/N:** Small one for today.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** Awww dear me, I totally own Harry Potter. Who do you think I'm kidding?

* * *

There was something different about this dream.

One, reptiles shouldn't follow people around like lost ducklings, was Harry Potter's first thought.

The next point followed more along the lines of: _I'm in trouble._

Seriously, lizards weren't supposed to be this weird. Scaly, yes - lizards were supposed to be scaly or some of them anyway-, although this was the first one he'd ever witnessed to breath fire.

Yes, _fire._ Like actual scorching fire.

This one ought to be the weirdest being in history, he concluded. Uncle Vernon was going to have a heart-attack when he saw it. He dreaded his aunt's high-pitched squeals just as much, but there was no telling what Dudley would do.

Probably beat it around with a stick.

"Seriously, go away," he pleaded with the animal. His voice sounded weird, too high for it to be his.

Flat out ignoring him, the small lizard wobbled forward, miraculously reaching Harry without toppling to the ground.

It emitted a pathetic whine, and then curled at his feet, practically oozing contentment.

Harry blushed.

"Hey," he protested feebly and poked it tentatively. In reflex, he retracted his hand ten times faster and stared in bewilderment at the sight of his bleeding finger.

The lizard screeched from the ground.

Now thoroughly confused and not just a little scared, Harry Potter tried to work around the strange creature, only to be intercepted by his faithful stalker. It snapped its teeth with irritation, some of its saliva sliding down from its fangs.

No doubt, a warning of some sort.

A flashback from the Basilisk from his second year warned him this might be the best time to run.

 _Danger, venomous._

"No," he cried.

Refusing to be near the creature, Harry broke into a dead run. He didn't need to peep over his shoulder to know he was being followed. Loud screeching pursued him relentlessly from behind and in his desperation he wished for safety.

Instantly, he felt the pressure building inside of him, increasing to the point of pain. It was so much he didn't feel the fall as he was pushed forward by something from behind.

The pressure continued building and building and then…

… and then he woke up.

With the bloody lizard on top of his chest. Except, this was no lizard.

It was a fucking newborn dragon.


	5. Mr Prongs

**Adoptable:**

 **Mr. Prongs**

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OHDEERJILY said:

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter looking for Fred and George to see if they want to have a snowball fight with him and Ron and finding an odd piece of parchment lying in their room.**

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter picking the parchment up and examining it, because he's learning that in the wizarding world nothing is ever as it seems, not even old pieces of parchment.**

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter tapping his wand to the parchment to see if anything happens and, to his surprise, seeing thin, angular writing appear as if written by an invisible hand.**

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter's excitement when the parchment reads:** ** _Mr. Prongs asks who is trying to uncover the carefully guarded secrets of the Marauders._**

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter whispering "My name is Harry Potter and I didn't mean to pry," before hurriedly trying to refold it and return it to where he'd found it**

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter's astonishment when the writing reappears, this time saying:** ** _Let Mr. Prongs share his immense joy that Harry Potter has found this. He hopes that Harry will find the contents of this parchment useful and use it in a way that would make his father proud._**

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter's smile sliding off his face as he says quietly, "I don't know. My father's dead, you see.**

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter's confusion when the writing appears once again, saying:** ** _Mr. Prongs wishes to tell Harry Potter that while his father may be dead, he is still looking out for him and is incredibly proud of him. Mr. Prongs hopes that Harry Potter knows his father loves him very much._**

 **Imagine first year Harry Potter taking the map back to his dormitory and spending the rest of the evening talking to the mysterious Mr. Prongs about his mother and father, about whom the invisible man seems to know quite a bit.**

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 **A/N:** sniff sniff WHO THE HECK WANTS TO WRITE THIS? I WANT IT OMG HOW I WANT IT! I WANT TO READ IT

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine, at all. Plot belongs to OHDEERJILY, posted in Tumblr (found originally by cywscross). I recommend all their works. Harry Potter, as always, is not mine.


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